


don't forget where you belong

by hyunsparkles



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Everyone Is Gay, Fluff and Angst, Gay Marriage is Legal, Hyunjin is ex-yakuza, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Mafia AU, Minor Bang Chan/Kim Woojin, Minor Hwang Hyunjin/Seo Changbin, Minor Kim Seungmin/Yang Jeongin | I.N, Non-Graphic Violence, hyunjin and jisung are engaged, some nct members are yakuza
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:14:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22933144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyunsparkles/pseuds/hyunsparkles
Summary: Hwang Hyunjin thought he was done with the yakuza for good when he left in fire and blood three and a half years ago. Since then, he's settled down, moved in with his college sweetheart, and even picked up a steady job, all while trying to forget.But his past resurfaces when his sworn brothers begin to go missing. He is forced back into the gang, meeting both foes and former lovers. And this time, it won't be so easy to choose.ON HIATUS
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Hwang Hyunjin
Comments: 9
Kudos: 56





	1. Chapter 1

It was nearly 8 PM when Jisung finally closed down his software application, the sounds of a blaring guitar riff and a thin EDM beat abruptly fading as he deleted the tab.  


With a sigh, he took off his headphones and placed them on the desk. His temples ached, the beginnings of a tension headache popping up along his forehead.  
Someone knocked on the door of his studio, then opened the door. Jisung spun around in his chair, rubbing his eyes tiredly.  


“Jisung, your phone was ringing,” Felix, Jisung’s co-worker, said with a yawn. His eyes were bloodshot, grey-blue rings surfacing under his eyes. He was in his early twenties, with a shock of orange-pink hair and a seemingly endless series of obscure EDM t-shirts. Today’s choice read: Blue Mamba Rave!  


“Who was it?” Jisung asked. It was a courtesy more than an actual question: there were so few people that called him. He knew it was Hyunjin before he opened his mouth.  


“Your fiance, I think? It said Jinnie.”  


Jisung and Felix worked as assistant music producers in a local studio in Myeongdong. Just out of college, they did a lot of the grunt work and clocked at least 48 hours a week each. This was the worst on Fridays, when the head producers went out for drinks around 6:45 and Jisung and Felix were left to finish up what remained.  


Hence Felix’s dark circles. Jisung suspected he hadn’t slept much this week.  


Both men had joined the company, STAY Records, at about the same time last year. They’d gone to the same university, and while they hadn’t been close then, they’d become fast friends in the last few months.  


Now, Felix tossed him his phone. Jisung reached for it, but in his exhaustion, he let it literally slip through his fingers. It fell with a clatter on the wood floor.  


“Damn,” Jisung said, leaning over to pick it up. “I really thought I had it this time.”  


Felix grimaced apologetically. He ran a hand through his hair, leaning his weight slightly on the open door. “I think I’m gonna clock out, if that’s fine with you? We’re basically done with rendering, and I have, uh, plans.” He fluttered a piece of paper in his hand: his timesheet.  


“Yeah, of course, go,” Jisung replied easily. He got up, closing down the computer in a few practiced strokes. “Honestly, I think I should head out too. But you said you had plans! Anything exciting?”  


“I hope so. It’s speed date night at the cafe by my apartment. If I leave now, I might just make it.” Felix had been looking for a boyfriend for as long as Jisung had known him. Even in university, he’d been known as the perpetually single one.  


Jisung wiggled his eyebrows. “Gonna finally find yourself a man? It’s about time.”  


“Hey, dude, not all of us were lucky enough to meet our soulmate in college,” Felix protested. “Most twenty-four-year-olds are still on the market." Felix started to walk out the door, and Jisung followed him, grabbing his work bag and turning out the lights. 

“You’re probably right, Lix.”  


“You and Hyunjin doing anything special this weekend?” Felix asked once they’d reached the office. “Oh, Jeongin’s gone.”  


The office was dark and empty, no sign of the record label’s maknae and assistant secretary. Normally, he worked later than them.  


Felix flicked on the light, his eyes wandering the space with a curious stare. A stack of papers lay strewn across one of the two desks, like someone had left in a hurry and forgotten to clean up after themselves.  


“That’s weird,” Felix said, his voice echoing slightly in the space. “He’s normally so meticulous.”  


Jisung, unconcerned, fished his timesheet out of his drawer. “He said this morning he had a funeral to go to, or something? It must have been a late notice.”  


“I guess,” Felix replied, still staring at the desks. He shook his head almost imperceptibly. “Anyway, you were saying?”  


Jisung looked at him for a second. “Oh, yeah. It’s our four year anniversary this Sunday so we’re thinking of going out to a restaurant in Gangnam to celebrate. And then of course we have date night tonight at the ramen bar.”Hyunjin would be waiting for him at their favorite bar. Jisung checked his phone. One missed call and a text from Jinnie: _do you want me to order you some soju?_  


When Jisung finally looked up, realizing they’d lapsed into silence, Felix was watching him, a strange look in his eyes.  


“What?” Jisung asked.  


Felix shook his head, smiling. “Nothing. See you Monday,” he said quickly, grabbing his coat from the hanger in the corner. “Wish me luck! And I hope you have fun on Sunday, I’m totally jealous.”  


“Good luck!” Jisung said obligingly. “And thanks, bro. I can’t wait.”

Friday date night was a tradition Jisung and Hyunjin had been following since the early days of their relationship, back when Jisung had been a tiny college freshman, Hyunjin still a member of his gang. It was a nearly four-year-old tradition now, and Jisung had come to rely on the respite it gave him from his endless long hours at STAY Records.  


Jisung had always been an introvert, but he’d come to crave bustle and social interaction of a few hours in a crowded bar after spending ten hours a day at his computer. He wasn’t a manager or head producer, so he didn’t do much talking- mostly listening. A lot of “yeahs” and “uh-huhs.”  


He missed connecting with people.  


Suddenly, Jisung felt something solid connect with the back of his seat, like someone had shoved into it, drawing him from his reverie. The city bus rumbled down busy streets, the sounds of the waking Seoul nightlife trickling in through the dirty window panes.  


Jisung’s phone pinged through his headphones, and he looked down at the notification: a Snapchat message from Felix.  


_Felix: this man is everything  
Jisung: how are you at the cafe already?  
Felix: I live two streets down from work, remember  
Jisung: oh, right. what’s his name?  
Felix: idk we haven’t gotten there yet but I love him. Just. wow. That voice!! He has a sexy baritone :)  
Jisung: have fun!!_  


Jisung felt someone shove into the back of his shirt, a hand connecting with his shoulder blade. He recoiled immediately, but didn’t turn around.  


He considered texting his fiance, asking him what to do, but rejected the thought immediately. Hyunjin would probably tell him to punch whoever it was in the face, or something.  


Jisung loved Hyunjin more than words could express, of course. But he had to admit that his fiance was all emotion, no logic. Hyunjin could reassure and react, but it was difficult for him to remember to think before he acted.  


The shove came again. This time, the person’s fingers lingered on his neck, leaving the sensation of sweat and heat.  


A memory flitted in the back of Jisung’s brain, threatened to expose itself. _No-_  


Jisung pulled out his headphones and turned around. “Hey, can you please-” He paused.  


A boy about Jisung’s age, maybe a little older, was sitting behind him, his eyes round and fearful. _Help me,_ he mouthed. Then he turned to his left, to the older man sitting next to him, and smiled flirtatiously.  


The older man leered. His teeth glinted yellow in the low lighting of the night. “So, are you coming back to my place or not?” he asked the boy, his hand coming to a rest on the boy’s thigh.  


Jisung made a decision. Well. Really, it wasn’t much of a decision at all. “Wait,” he said suddenly.  


They turned to look at him. The boy looked agonizingly hopeful, the older man frowning, nearly glaring.  


“Can I help you?” The man said forcefully.  


“Minhyuk!” Jisung gushed at the boy. “I haven’t seen you in forever. We should catch up…” He looked apologetically at the older man. “We’re cousins, you know. I should text my mom; she’d love to have cousin Minhyuk over for dinner. Sorry to interrupt your…” He trailed off. “Anyway.”  


“Eunhyuk! How are you?” The boy didn't skip a beat; his lying skills were surprisingly convincing.  


Jisung gestured to the seat next to him. “Good. But come sit! I insist.” He smiled at the man. “You don’t want to cause a scene, right?”  


The man glared.  


Swiftly, “Minhyuk” got up, nearly tripping over his own feet in the process. He reached out to a seat across the aisle to steady himself; Jisung noticed his hands were shaking. He sat down with a thud in the aisle seat, pushing back his messy black hair with one hand.  


“Minhyuk” turned to Jisung with a forced smile. “So…”

It was almost ten minutes before the man’s stop came up. As he left, he lingered long by “Minhyuk,” but ultimately kept going.  
When the doors finally closed, the boy let out an enormous sigh. He turned to Jisung, his eyes a little red, like he was about to cry with relief. “I can’t repay you enough.”  


“No need,” Jisung said immediately. “What’s your name?”  


“It’s Minho,” the boy said quickly. “Lee Minho. Nice to meet you.” He had dark, dark eyes, like small voids, and a tentative smile.  


Jisung’s heart warmed despite himself. “I’m Jisung. Nice to meet you, too.”


	2. Chapter 2

When Jisung arrived at the bar in Itaewon, Hyunjin was waiting for him, the establishment’s air conditioning roaring on full blast in the background in a fruitless attempt to stave off the June humidity.  
  
  
Jisung pulled back a chair, the sound of heavy wood grating against the stone floor. “Hey. Sorry about the wait.” He dropped his briefcase by the seat.  
  
  
Hyunjin started, his gaze flicking up from his phone to Jisung’s face. His lips curved into a smile. “It’s fine. I’m glad you’re here.”  
  
  
Jisung noticed with surprise that Hyunjin had shed his leather jacket, revealing one of his characteristic plain black t-shirts. He was built like a professional soccer player, all lean muscle and harsh lines, his bare arms - and yakuza tattoos - on full display.  
  
  
His tattoos were breathtaking- at least, in Jisung’s opinion. A green vine looped around Hyunjin’s left wrist, slowly developing beautiful pink lotus flowers and mixing with a traditional grey wave pattern as it crawled up his bicep and under his black sleeves. Jisung knew from experience that the grey waves, flowers, and vines made their way across a little of his chest, where a dragon peeked out from behind a large wave, and down part of his left shoulder blade. The edges of the tattoo were clean lines, ending well within the area covered by an average long-sleeve so that it was easily concealed.  
  
  
To those in the know, the tattoos marked Hyunjin as successful, as someone that had brought in enough money to the gang that he could afford to have his beautifully intricate _hikae irezumi_ done. To most people, though, it just made him look like a thug.  
  
  
Hyunjin’s other arm was nearly bare, save for a series of six numbers engraved on his wrist, each set separated by two dots: 21.04.21. It marked the day he’d shot his gang leader and left for good. The day he’d chosen Jisung over everything he’d ever known.  
  
  
“The arms are out, I like it,” Jisung said appreciatively. He sat down with a thud and took a long drink from Hyunjin’s glass. The beer was almost comically bitter, and he grimaced, pushing the glass back towards his fiance.  
  
  
Hyunjin, meanwhile, had turned a little pink, which Jisung noted with pleasure. “Yeah, I’m kind of regretting it, I’ve been getting weird looks,” Hyunjin replied, pushing back his hair with one hand and leaning onto one elbow. “I mean, like always, of course.” His gaze flickered to just over Jisung’s shoulder.  
  
  
Jisung turned around in his seat. A middle-aged woman at the table behind them was openly staring, her nose scrunched with disgust.  
  
  
Jisung smiled brightly at her and waved. She scowled and looked away.  
  
  
“I kept waiting for the staff to kick me out,” Hyunjin said, and Jisung turned back to look at him with a sigh. It wouldn’t be the first time, he knew. It rarely happened when they were together, though- Jisung apparently looked respectable enough with his black briefcase and pressed slacks that people were willing to give Hyunjin the benefit of the doubt.  
  
  
“But whatever,” Hyunjin continued. “Anyway.” He reached across the table to entwine his right hand with Jisung’s, smiling. “How was your day, baby?”  
  
  
“Long,” Jisung admitted. Hyunjin ran his thumb over Jisung’s absentmindedly. Jisung felt his heartbeat pick up, but he continued: “Too long. We were rendering for close to four hours, it was horrible. Poor Felix looks like he hasn’t slept in days.”  
  
  
Hyunjin laughed, his eyes crinkling. “That Snapchat you sent me today of him sleeping through your lunch break was really funny.”  
  
  
Jisung grinned back. “Yeah, I know. Oh, by the way, have you started looking for restaurants yet?” With their four-year anniversary in two days, Hyunjin had been tasked with getting a reservation.  
  
  
Hyunjin grimaced. “I was going to while Kkami was at the vet, but he had a temper tantrum and I had to step in. I’ll start tomorrow morning, maybe?”  
  
  
Jisung’s eyes widened. “Wait, what happened?”  
  
  
Kkami was their tiny, overdramatic shelter dog. His favorite activity was flopping down and crying loudly whenever they didn’t do what he wanted. Last night, they’d been snacking on grapes after dinner- poisonous to dogs. When they refused to give Kkami some, he’d yowled so loud their next-door neighbors had knocked on the door to complain. But they loved him despite his antics.  
  
  
Now, Hyunjin rolled his eyes. “The vet said he has separation anxiety, but honestly, I think he’s just a little bitch.”  
  
  
“No!” Jisung exclaimed, kind of joking but not really. “He’s a baby, how dare you.”  
  
  
To Jisung’s surprise, instead of coming up with a witty retort, Hyunjin smiled easily, meeting Jisung’s eyes. “Yeah. He’s our baby.”  
  
  
Jisung’s heart fluttered. “I love you,” Jisung said softly.  
  
  
Hyunjin didn’t falter. “I love you, too,” he replied, equally softly. “I’ll make the reservation tomorrow, I promise.”  
  
  
“You better not forget. We’re not coming here for our anniversary, let me tell you,” Jisung said, this time in his normal voice.  
  
  
Hyunjin smirked. “Your faith in me is inspiring, Sungie.”

  


They talked for hours after that, the slight roar of the bar quieting with the return of the night. On the way home, Jisung fell asleep on Hyunjin’s shoulder, his face pressed into the leather and metal.  
  
  
When he woke up, Hyunjin had placed Jisung’s head on his lap, slowly brushing his fingers through Jisung’s hair.  
  
  
Jisung’s parents still struggled with the idea that their son was dating an ex-yakuza member. Jisung had never told them outright, of course, but it was hard to ignore the implications of tattoos like that. They had a hard enough time accepting he was gay; a man like Hyunjin as his partner was almost too much for them.  
  
  
For Jisung’s straight-laced parents, the leather jackets and gang tattoos and motorcycle lying idle at home felt too close to criminal. They felt Jisung was being corrupted.  
  
  
Jisung, for his part, didn’t feel very corrupted, and he didn’t see a criminal when he looked at his fiance. But he knew, too, that the Hyunjin he’d come to love was not the same Hwang Hyunjin that had smuggled fifteen grams of cocaine into the Busan black market at barely fourteen, that had learned to shoot moving targets at ten years old, that used to be jokingly called _Dokkaebi-_ goblin.  
  
  
But he’d changed. When Jisung had found out all those years ago what Hyunjin really did for a living, why he wasn’t enrolled in university like the rest of the twenty-year-olds he knew, he’d given Hyunjin an ultimatum: lose the gang, or lose Jisung. Jisung had refused to be complicit in drug running and racketeering and whatever else they did.  
  
  
Jisung hadn’t believed Hyunjin could do it- not really. But Hyunjin had. He’d separated himself from the gang, losing his family and his career in the process. And now, three years later, they were still together, stronger than ever.  
  
  
For now, that was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is going to have some implied violence, but it won't be too graphic. Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: There's strong language in this chapter and some implied violence. 
> 
> I also wanted to clarify that this is not how I see Stray Kids and NCT's actual personalities!! Some of the characters are violent, but it's exclusively for the purposes of the story. I know the members of both groups are all actually sweethearts :)

When Hyunjin woke up on Saturday morning, it was just past dawn, the barest hint of light trickling in through his apartment window. He lay in bed, the down comforter pulled up to his neck, staring up at the faint cracks in the ceiling with even breaths.  
  
After a few minutes, Hyunjin felt the mattress shift, the blanket pulling a little across his body as his fiance shifted in his sleep. Hyunjin turned his head, feeling a smile tug at his lips.  
  
His fiance, Jisung, lay a few inches away. Sungie was sleeping on his back, one hand thrown over his forehead in a picture of exhausted abandon. His mouth, the sharp Cupid’s bow a deep red, was slightly ajar, his eyelids fluttering slightly. The comforter was pulled up just below his collarbone, revealing a tantalizing expanse of tanned skin.  
  
There was a rumbling sound: their dog, a tiny shelter dog named Kkami, slumbered on Jisung’s chest, her long black and white fur rising and falling steadily.  
  
Hyunjin let out a contented breath, letting his mind wander to the day before. It had been date night, and after Jisung had gotten off work at 8, they had gone out to a local bar for dinner, laughing and talking for hours over black bean noodles and beer. Jisung giggling, his eyes bright. Hyunjin holding his fiance’s head in his lap the whole bus ride home to their tiny studio apartment.  
  
A memory flitted through his brain, and he tensed. The longer he stayed in bed, the longer a vague anxiety creeped up on him, an old habit fueled by long, uncomfortable nights sleeping on park benches and in abandoned buildings. Carefully, so as to not wake the other two, Hyunjin pulled himself off the mattress and sat on the cold wood. He unplugged his phone, lying on the floor beside him.  
  
A flurry of notifications woke themselves from oblivion. Hyunjin scrolled through them: twenty or so texts in a group chat with his college friends; a text from his best friend, Seungmin; a Snapchat message from his sister; an anniversary reminder for the coming Monday.  
  
He sent a quick reply to his sister, then pulled up the messages app and texted his fiance: _Hey love. I’m going for a run, I’ll make us breakfast when I get back_  
This was their Saturday routine: Hyunjin, propelled by years of habit, woke up early to work out. Not so for Jisung. The other man, always exhausted from long Friday work shifts, slept in later. And when Hyunjin had gotten back and showered, Hyunjin would make breakfast for them both.  
  
Hyunjin rather enjoyed the process of making food. Cooking was made up of rules: some you learned to break, others you learned to leave alone. Cleaning, not so much, but Hyunjin could deal with that; it served as therapy, almost- a way to learn how to be calm after years of the opposite.  
  
Hyunjin had spent too many years already rushing around and being angry. He was plenty content just doing these things: cooking, cleaning, taking care of Kkami, picking up a few shifts a week as a trainer at the local gym. They were lucky, Jisung and him, that one source of income - Jisung’s - was plenty.  
  
And besides, it wasn’t like Hyunjin could really find a full-time job anyway: he had no credentials. He’d barely graduated high school. All he had was his 220 pound bench press weight, a 5 minute mile, and the ability to accurately shoot a moving target at the vital points. Not really sought-after talents in the corporate sphere.  
  
Hyunjin padded quietly across the floor to their clothes closet, where a mirror hung against the closet door. A man stared back at him, muscular, tall enough that his head was partially cut off by the top of the mirror, wearing nothing but grey sweatpants and Hyunjin’s characteristic semi-permanent scowl. An intricate tattoo swirled up his shoulder, covering part of his pectoral muscle and most of his arm. Dark eyes blinked back at him, disfigured by the grimy mirror.  
  
His brothers would be proud- he looked like a thug. Like a real yakuza. The years hadn't changed him at all.  
  
With a sigh, Hyunjin turned to the closet. He pulled on a black long-sleeve workout tee, then replaced his pajama pants with matching black joggers.  
  
Their apartment was small, essentially a studio, so it only took Hyunjin a few steps until he was in their kitchen. He checked the fridge: they were out of eggs. He checked the cabinets, too, discovering a similar lack of dog food. He’d need to stop by the store on his way back.  
  
He pocketed his phone, then picked up his wallet from the stainless steel kitchen counter.Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of pink outlined against the marble of the kitchen counter. He went to investigate curiously.  
  
On the counter, Jisung had affixed a pink sticky note in his careful, neat handwriting:  
  
_Saturday goals:  
-Sungie: Go to the laundromat (ugh)  
-Jinnie: find a restaurant for our anniversary dinner!!  
_  
Jisung had outlined a heart after the word “anniversary.”  
  
Hyunjin smiled. Jisung must have written it while they were getting ready for bed last night. Hyunjin had been preoccupied with babying Kkami, one of the few activities that could distract him enough to allow anything Jisung did to slip his notice.  
  
_Anniversary dinner..._ Hyunjin had a hard time believing they’d been dating for four years, engaged since March. Hyunjin had been meaning to propose since December, but he kept chickening out. He’d never thought of himself as a coward, of course. He’d worked as a drug runner with the yakuza and that took guts. But it turned out when it came to Jisung, he was too afraid of loss: the fear of rejection had outweighed the potential benefits of proposing. But then Jisung popped the question at Hyunjin’s birthday dinner in March and beat him to it. Hyunjin had felt a little silly, really, for worrying for so long.  
  
Finally, Hyunjin turned to the doorway. He’d taken two steps in that direction when suddenly, he heard the sound of canine nails against the wood floor, the jingling of a dog tag. He felt someone a few feet behind him, his internal sensors pinging.  
  
He paused. “Morning, Sungie,” he said warmly.  
  
“Good morning, babe,” came a sleepy voice from behind him.  
  
Hyunjin turned around just in time to catch Jisung yawning silently as Kkami came to a sliding stop around his fiance’s ankles. Jisung stood a few feet behind him, leaning his hip against the side of the counter. He was shirtless, wearing familiar-looking grey sweatpants that hung low on his hips and dragged on the floor, his face tinted pink from the heat of the down comforter.  
  
He quirked a smile. “It’s that time already?”  
  
There was a brief moment where Hyunjin seriously considered going straight back to bed to cuddle with his fiance for a few hours. He paused.  
  
“Kkami’s out of food,” Hyunjin said eventually, when his brain had finished fighting against his heart. “And we need eggs for breakfast.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kkami walk over to her empty food bowl quizzically.  
  
“Look at our baby,” Jisung replied, following Hyunjin’s gaze with a sigh. “She needs her food.” Then he smiled, brushing back his hair with one hand. “At least come kiss me first.”  
  
Wordlessly, Hyunjin pulled him close. For a few moments, it was only this: his lips pressed to Jisung’s, the soft pressure of his fiance’s hands on his neck, in his hair. Too soon, they pulled apart.  
  
“See you in a bit,” Hyunjin breathed. “Also, by the way, I think you’re wearing my pants.”  
  
“That explains a lot,” Jisung said. He smirked up at Hyunjin. “They’re comfy, though. I might not give them back.”  
  
Jisung kissed Hyunjin briefly, keeping him from replying. “I’m going back to bed. See you, baby.” 

  
\----  


When Hyunjin was younger, he used to hate running. He only ran when he had something to run from: bullies, other gangs, policemen. The sound of whistles and yelling, the heavy breaths of his brothers filling his ears as they tried to escape whatever it was they were running from.  
  
Lately, though, he’d been swapping out his early morning gym sessions for jogging. Something about the process of bulking up, the careful routine of bench presses and weights, made him feel like he was preparing for something. The anxiety caught up to him before he could stop it, and he was left breathless, reliving memories he’d tried hard to forget.  
  
His head was a mess, sometimes. When he’d confided in his fiance, Jisung had suggested jogging. And even though Hyunjin had been skeptical, he’d tried it, because Hyunjin always trusted Jisung. Surprisingly, though, it worked. It was like cooking and cleaning: he could fall into the rhythm. He could let himself breathe.  
  
Today, the rosy dawn light came in through the clouds as Seoul woke up around him, the sounds of the morning just beginning to roll through the streets as Hyunjin finally came to a stop by the local grocery store 30 minutes later. He leaned against the side of a bench, breathing hard.  
  
He checked his watch: 5 miles. It was embarrassing, frankly. He’d do better next time.  
  
He opened the door to the store with one hand and immediately grabbed a grocery basket from a pile in the corner. He’d go quickly. 15 minutes, tops.  
  
And then Hyunjin looked up, and his heart sank. 

  
  


Normally, Hyunjin was one of the only people in the grocery store at 7:45 in the morning on a Saturday. It was a tiny grocery store with only two cashiers- not built for crowds. Apparently, though, no one else had gotten the memo.  
  
As it was, Hyunjin had been in line to check out for upwards of twenty minutes. A cacophony of sounds surrounded him: There was a baby crying in the line next to him. The woman behind him kept ramming her grocery cart into the back of his legs. The cashiers were harried, murmuring apologies every few seconds. Throughout, the gentle screeching of electronic pop music lilted in the background.  
  
Hyunjin kind of wanted to scream. Or swear. Or punch someone. Or maybe all at once- he was flexible.  
  
The woman behind him rammed her cart into the back of his legs, sharp and painful as the plastic grated against his heels.  
  
Hyunjin’s blood, already boiling, boiled over. “You know what, ma’am-”  
  
But just when Hyunjin was about to tell the woman to fucking cool it, his phone rang. It was his fiance’s ringtone, a slow-paced lyrical rap song that Jisung had insisted on Hyunjin setting up. It poured out into the space, drawing curious stares from his fellow shoppers. From behind him, he heard the woman cluck her tongue in disapproval.  
  
Hyunjin fished his phone out from his pocket, hands trembling with adrenaline, and pressed the green answer button.  
  
“Hey, love,” He said, as brightly as he could manage. He placed the phone between his ear and his shoulder, then turned back and glared at the woman behind him, squinting with narrowed eyes until she lowered her gaze. “What’s up?”  
  
“Hyunjin,” Jisung said calmly. “You need to come home right now.”  
  
Hyunjin frowned. He kicked the floor with a scuffed Adidas sneaker. “I wish. They’re held up at the store, though. It’ll probably be another 15, 20 minutes?”  
  
“No,” Jisung said, markedly less calmly. “Come home right now.” His voice wobbled. Hyunjin's pulse skyrocketed.  
  
People were always surprised to find out that Jisung was the least emotional of the pair. While Hyunjin had ample practice suppressing his more empathetic side at his former… job, with Jisung he was expansive and free with his emotions. If someone was going to cry at a sad movie, it was Hyunjin.  
  
But Jisung? Not so much. He had always been taciturn, careful with his emotions like they were delicate china. Hyunjin had only seen him cry twice in all the years they’d known each other: once when he’d found out what Hyunjin did for a living, and one more time when Jisung’s dad had passed away.  
  
Hyunjin stopped kicking the ground, his frustration morphing into something stickier. He was suddenly alert. He grabbed the phone with one hand, pressing it to his ear, a strange feeling growing in his chest. “Love, what’s going on?”  
  
“We have some visitors, baby. Friends of yours.” There was a voice crack. Jisung’s voice muffled, like he’d moved away from the receiver. “What did you say your names were...?”  
  
There was a low baritone rasp, speaking too low to make out individual words.  
  
Hyunjin’s heart stopped. _That voice..._ “Sungie?” He croaked. “Sungie, what do you mean by visitors?”  
  
Sometimes, on nights when the sound of his own bones breaking thundered through his ears, when the ghost feeling of blood caked beneath his fingernails and in the cracks in his palms lingered in his brain, he would hear that voice. Jisung would hold Hyunjin as he cried, whispering how the owner of that terrible voice could never possibly find them now.  
  
There was an endless, silent moment. Hyunjin could feel his heart roaring in his ears.  
  
“Chan and Mark, right,” Jisung finally said, that semblance of calm barely holding. “Those are their names… Hyunjin, it’s time to come home. They have-” he stopped abruptly.  
  
Hyunjin knew the end of that sentence. He knew it like he knew his own name. _They have guns._ Because what else would they have? They were yakuza. They dealt in fire and blood.  
  
“Jisung?” He managed, his voice a whisper.  
  
Then, a deep tenor, clearly not Sungie, with a lazy American accent: “Hey, bro. Nice man you got here.”  
  
Hyunjin felt like someone had slapped him in the face. Like someone had pulled out the rug from under him. “What the absolute fuck are you doing in my house, you bastard?”  
  
Once, they'd been brothers, him and Mark. Once. But now...?  
  
“No need to get defensive,” Mark chuckled. “Sungie, you called him? Jisung? Nice name. Scrawny, though.”  
  
Hyunjin didn’t reply.  
  
Mark continued: “I didn’t think this was your type, though, Jinjin. He smiles too much. He smiled when he opened the door, and he doesn't even know us! He’s not like those boys you used to sleep with, ya know? No empty bottles. Doesn’t smell like booze or weed. We checked.” He laughed carelessly. “Just a little joke for you. Those boys, though, Jinjin. Changbin and Jaemin and Jeno and Minhyuk and fuck, who else, they always did like booze and drugs and shit. It’s like you had a nose for the broken ones. You always did have a nose for blood. Like a bulldog. Like a _dokkaebi.”_  
  
Hyunjin was silent- he couldn’t make his mouth work.  
  
“We can always break him in, you know,” Mark continued conversationally. “This boy of yours, I mean. Shake him up a little. He’s really not broken enough for you, Jinjin. Not yet.”  
  
_Oh, Jisung…_  
  
“Mark,” Hyunjin growled. Something thrummed in his veins. “If you touch him, I’ll pull out your entrails with my bare hands.”  
  
“Sure,” Mark said easily. “Sure, sure. Just a second, though, I think the boss wants to talk-” There was a shuffling sound, like a phone being passed around.  
  
Finally, Hyunjin heard the voice.  
  
“Hwang. It’s been a long time, yeah?” The voice he’d run from. He’d dreamt a thousand black nightmares about hearing that voice again. It was back from the dead like a ghost, like the immortal hell-being the man was.  
  
It was Bang Chan. His old boss and former brother, second only to the leader of the Seoul branch of the Yamamoto yakuza family. His voice oozed honey and pain.  
  
“I thought you understood me loud and clear when I shot you three years ago,” Hyunjin said. “I’m done. What are you doing in my house?”  
  
Chan laughed humorlessly, the bass rumbling in his chest. “Your boy’s right, Hwang. It’s time to come home.”  
  
There was a click- he’d hung up.  
  
Hyunjin left his shopping basket, his eggs and his dog food, right there in line. He just ran.


	4. Chapter 4

SIXTEEN YEARS EARLIER  
When Hyunjin was just eight years old, he met the boys who would later become his brothers.  
  
His foster father had just kicked him out of the house for the third time that week as a punishment for talking back. It was a bitterly cold January, cold enough to make your teeth burn, the wind freezing exposed fingers and making them motionless.  
  
Hyunjin stood outside his apartment shivering, the old hallway light on his floor buzzing in the background. The complex was a closed box, opening to a large outdoor courtyard in the middle. There was no wind, but that didn’t help much. He could see his breath. He had a coat - his father wasn’t trying to kill him - but not much else. His fingers were jammed into his pockets, face buried into the collar of his wool jacket.  
  
Down the hall, Hyunjin heard the muffled sound of someone yelling coming from one of the apartments. The voice echoed around the white concrete.  
  
He scuffed his shoes against the ground boredly. Another fifteen minutes and he’d be allowed inside again. It was only marginally warmer there- his foster father, who worked as a mechanic, didn’t have enough money to pay for heat this month, so they relied on groaning space heaters and old, smelly blankets. Another silent dinner of rice and kimchi awaited him.  
  
His stomach grumbled unhappily, and Hyunjin sighed. His last foster family had at least been well-off enough that they could always pay for not only heat but nice dinners. They’d had kimchi stew sometimes, black bean noodles and fruit, all sorts of soups. Not just rice and fast food.  
  
But it hadn’t worked out. After Hyunjin’s fifth run-in with the law (he stole food or clothes, sometimes), they’d decided they were done. And now Hyunjin was here.  
  
Thirteen more minutes, maybe? He couldn’t tell. The cold was starting to reach his core, now, making his face freeze to his bones and curling his tiny fingers.  
  
“And stay out!” A woman screamed from down the hallway. A door slammed.  
  
Hyunjin looked up curiously. He had an unhappy neighborhood, filled with people worried about making electricity and heat payments and making food for one meal stretch for three. The shouting wasn't unheard of, or even uncommon, but it was interesting.There was a low sound from the direction of the door slam, like racking sobs.  
  
Hyunjin wandered over. To his surprise, there was a boy about his age sitting against the door, burying his head in his hands, his shoulder shaking with tears. From what Hyunjin could see of his face, it was bright red. He wore no coat, only an oversized woolen sweater and worn jeans. His sock feet curled up close to his body.  
  
“Hey,” Hyunjin said, and then again more loudly when he didn’t get an answer. “Hey! Who are you?”  
  
The boy continued to sob. Frustrated, Hyunjin stepped on the boy’s foot. He was wearing shoes, and he vaguely felt the boy recoil.  
  
“Ow!” The boy screamed. He looked up, snot and tears painting his face. “Why did you do that?”  
  
“Answer me,” Hyunjin said stubbornly. “Who are you? I haven’t seen you before.”  
  
The boy sniffled. “Why do you care?” Hyunjin noticed that his hands were red with cold, curled with the pain of the freezing temperatures.  
  
“I’m Hyunjin,” Hyunjin said. “There. You have to tell me your name now.”  
  
There were quite a few children in the complex, but none that Hyunjin was aware of on his floor, floor eight, until now. His foster father, afraid for Hyunjin’s safety around their rougher neighbours further up or down, had forbidden him from taking the elevator or stairs on his own. And though Hyunjin would never admit it, he was getting lonely. He had never had real friends before. School was useless, with already established cliques and rampant bullying, and his foster father, a widower and empty nester, didn't even have any kids.  
  
When the boy didn’t reply immediately, Hyunjin said crossly, “C’mon. We can be friends.”  
  
The boy paused. “Really?”  
  
“Yeah,” Hyunjin said, like it was obvious. His heart pattered in his chest.  
  
There was a pause. The boy sniffled again, then wiped his nose on his sweater. “I’m Changbin,” he said. “How old are you? My mom says I can’t play with the big kids.” He looked up at Hyunjin with wide eyes.  
  
Hyunjin was unusually tall and sturdy for his age. He was only eight, but he could have passed as eleven. He said so.  
  
Changbin’s eyes flickered, brightening for a brief second before returning to melancholy. “I’m nine, so I’m your hyung,” He replied. Then, “you wanna make another friend?”  
  
Hyunjin blinked. “What?”  
  
Without replying, Changbin scampered down the hallway, the sound of his sock feet pattering down the hallway. He turned a corner, and was gone.  
  
A few minutes passed. Hyunjin was beginning to wonder if Changbin had gotten lost when the boy suddenly came running back with someone else in tow. The two boys came to a sliding stop in front of him. Changbin was smiling. The other boy was not. He was clearly older, maybe eleven or twelve, with a puff of curly black hair and a dark frown. He wasn’t wearing a coat either, or even socks, but was somehow seemingly unfazed.  
  
Hyunjin squinted. He felt a little intimidated. Hyunjin often felt intimidated- a side effect of changing schools often, of a new foster family replacing the old every few years. He’d learned to hide his fear with aggression, though. He’d learned to mask his fear by making others afraid of him.  
  
“Who are you?” Hyunjin demanded of the older boy. He stepped up, as if to get in the boy’s face.  
  
“This is Chan,” Changbin answered for the boy. “He lives on floor seven.”  
  
That explained it. Hyunjin’s foster father said that floor seven was the danger floor- where all the gang members, all the criminals and their families, lived. He once told Hyunjin that if he ever happened to meet a kid from floor seven, he was to walk the other way immediately.  
  
Adult Hyunjin often wondered what might have happened if he’d heeded that warning. Would he have found the yakuza anyway? Would he have avoided all the blood and pain and fear of the next ten years of that Hyunjin’s life? But eight-year-old Hyunjin’s response to being told what to do was exactly the opposite, so instead of heeding his foster father’s warning, he nodded at Chan, like he’d seen the men in action movies do. “Hi. Let’s be friends.”  
  
“Sure,” Chan replied.  
  
“I’ve always wanted more than one friend,” Changbin said happily. “This is amazing.”  
  
Chan rolled his eyes. “You’re such a loser, Changbin.” But he smiled anyway.  
  
Little did they know they would become closer than friends within the next few months, less like friends and more like brothers. Hyunjin came to enjoy Changbin’s easy introvertedness, even came to respect Chan’s intractable quiet. And even when their tiny group grew to fit more and more reckless and astray kids like them - casual Mark, amiable Jaemin, and darkly humorous Seungmin, to name a few - he still loved these two more than the rest.  
  
They were together through thick and thin. Until they weren’t anymore.  
  
  


PRESENT DAY (ish)  
  
Hyunjin raced back to his apartment, his heart feeling like it was about to beat out of his chest. The world blurred past him. He pushed past chattering elderly women, shoulder-checked delivery men, manhandled the doorways to his apartment block in his fervor. Sweat had soaked through the back of his long-sleeve, leaving his skin feeling warm and sticky. He took the stairs up to his floor three at a time, more jumping than running. He jerked open the door of the stairwell.  
  
He was at the door to his apartment in no time. There, he paused.  
  
Sweat trickled down the back of his neck. He was vaguely aware of the sound of his own breathing, adrenaline racing anew through his veins. He didn’t allow himself to think about it, but his brain threatened to nonetheless- the unthinkable.  
  
What would he see when he opened that door?  
  
Carefully, Hyunjin wondered how far Mark and Chan were really willing to go to ensure his cooperation in- whatever it was they wanted. He tiptoed around his own thoughts: Jisung was fine. He had to be.  
  
Hyunjin took a breath and opened the door. Immediately, he was greeted with a smiling, almost amiable face, an inch or two shorter than him, with hair dyed orange-yellow by a poor attempt at a bleach job. Perfect, pointed teeth glinted at him through a smiling mouth, menacing through the semblance of friendliness.  
  
“Well,” Mark said casually, leaning on the doorway. “It’s the _dokkaebi_.” He looked almost inviting, but Hyunjin wasn’t fooled: Mark’s shoulders were tensed, his eyes flickering across Hyunjin’s face, like Hyunjin was a favorite dog that he’d decided was possibly dangerous.  
  
“Where’s your gun?” Hyunjin said shortly.  
  
“What?” Mark said innocently. His left hand, stuck in his jeans pocket, twitched. “My what?”  
  
Hyunjin blinked, then laughed humorlessly. “Oh, I’m sorry. Of course. I meant your guns.”  
  
Mark chuckled. “Smart. Yeah, they’re away. Your boy just about pissed his pants when I pressed the muzzle against his face, Jinjin. You’d think he’s never seen a gun before! We took care of that.”  
  
“You what?” Hyunjin said slowly.  
  
“Ah, _dokkaebi_ ,” Mark said, his voice turning patronizing. “Didn’t your mommy ever tell you to take care of your dog? Bad men do bad things to dogs, you know.”  
  
Everything was going in slow motion. _Kkami._ Hyunjin made a choice, but really, it wasn’t much of a choice at all. Lightning fast, he gripped Mark’s collar, grasping the other man’s jaw with one hand. He kicked the door shut with one foot, then dropped the collar, Mark choking out a breath. Hyunjin, unsurprised, found a knife in Mark’s front jeans pocket and held it up against the other man’s throat. He let go of Mark’s jaw, shamelessly feeling around his waistband for a gun. “Well,” Hyunjin said slowly. He blinked down at the man, feeling anger boil in his veins. He met Mark’s gaze evenly, though.  
  
Something flickered in Mark’s eyes, and his smile faltered. “Hwang,” he croaked. “Hwang-”  
  
“You have two choices,” Hyunjin hissed. “Either you give me your gun yourself, or I find it for you. You choose. Just know that I don’t fucking care about your insecurities. You joke about killing my dog and I will fucking end you.”  
  
Mark smirked, suddenly, like something had just occurred to him. “Is that what you told Changbin? That you were looking for a gun? You know, when you-” Hyunjin pressed the knife closer to Mark’s throat, drawing blood. Wordlessly, Mark handed him the gun.  
  
“Jesus, Hwang,” Mark said, chuckling nervously as Hyunjin released him. “Take a fucking chill pill or something. It’s just a joke, ya know?”  
  
Hyunjin released the safety on the gun, his mind elsewhere. He listened for the creaks in the floorboards, the sounds of struggle. It had been eerily silent, no sound of Chan or Jisung during all of his altercation with Mark. He took a slow step, right where he knew the boards wouldn’t creak.  
  
“Hey, boss,” Mark said cheerfully. And Hyunjin was on the ground, the breath knocked out of him, feeling the gun nimbly taken from his fingers and kicked across the floor as he lay for a second, two seconds, three seconds, remembering what it felt like to breathe. He felt the muzzle of a gun against his temple. Another, undoubtedly Mark’s, pressed hard against his lower abdomen.  
  
Chan had always been better than him. If Hyunjin was the goblin, Chan was the ghost; Chan was there and gone before you ever knew he existed. Hyunjin had hoped, believed somehow that the years had changed that. It looked like they hadn’t.  
  
“Hyunjin,” Jisung’s voice choked out, hoarse like he’d been screaming. “Baby.”  
  
Hyunjin let out a shaky breath. All the fight left his body in a rush. _Jisung._ “Okay,” he said slowly. “Okay, Chan, enough.”  
  
Chan chuckled, his voice floating somewhere above Hyunjin’s head. “Not good enough, Hwang.” Hyunjin had fixed his eyes on a spot in the ceiling, mindful that even a twitch of the eyes could mean a slip of the trigger finger.  
  
_Hwang._ Chan calling him Hwang. That was new. It was wonderfully impersonal, hiding any semblance of former closeness far from the eye or ear. Chan had always been so good at hiding.  
  
“Did you kill my dog?” Hyunjin said after a pause. He felt a sliver of vulnerability slither into the statement.  
  
Mark and Chan both laughed in surprise; Hyunjin suspected they couldn’t believe he could care about anyone but himself. That Hyunjin felt anything but anger and lust. Hyunjin felt the gun at his abdomen press harder, and he took a sharp breath.  
  
“Wrong choice,” Mark said shortly. “Careful with your words, Hwang.”  
  
“He’ll do whatever you want,” Jisung said quickly, from further away. “He’ll do it.” Jisung sounded surprisingly calm, now. But Jisung was wrong- he wouldn’t, really, do whatever they wanted. He didn’t want to go back. He didn’t want to do it- A drug run? A murder? He was done.  
  
“Hyunjin,” Jisung said forcefully, when he didn’t reply. “Do it, whatever it is.” He was using that voice. It was one he rarely used, the one Hyunjin couldn’t help but listen to. Iron ridged Hyunjin’s name in his fiance’s mouth. Jisung had had enough.  
  
“Fine,” Hyunjin said, after a pause. He didn’t want to. He’d almost rather die, his sense of pride was so resistant to admitting defeat. But he loved Jisung more than anything, and he wouldn’t disappoint him. “Yes, he’s right, I will.”  
  
The guns released their hold on him. Carefully, Hyunjin sat up, keeping his gaze trained on Chan. Chan was playing with the gun, smirking at him as he crouched by where Hyunjin’s head had been. “I’m glad to hear that, Hwang.” He looked the same as he always had: curly black hair, muscular shoulders wound up to his neck, his eyes glinting with something dangerous. A black long-sleeve, identical to Hyunjin’s, hung off his shoulders, the edges of his black dragon tattoo peeking out along his wrists. He was older now, though, the beginning of crow’s feet forming at the edges of his eyes. He’d be, what, twenty-six, now? Twenty-seven?  
  
“What do you want?” Hyunjin said shortly, when Chan didn’t immediately supply the information. He broke his gaze away from Chan, but didn’t look at Jisung. Fear whispered in his heart.  
  
“You’re going to give us Changbin,” Mark said, putting his gun back in his waistband.  
  
There was a long pause.  
  
“What?” Hyunjin said, nonplussed.  
  
Jisung answered for him, his voice resigned: “Changbin’s gone.”  
  
Jisung had a complicated relationship with Hyunjin’s past. He knew Hyunjin had once been - involved - with Changbin, back before he’d met Jisung. Jisung didn’t care about the guns, the drugs, the law-breaking, none of that, as long as Hyunjin promised to never be a part of it again. But Changbin? They’d had a hard time getting past those memories.  
  
“Gone?” Hyunjin repeated, frowning deeply. It was unlike Changbin to leave without giving notice.  
  
“Missing,” Chan corrected, mirroring Hyunjin’s expression. His eyes flickered, annoyed, over the left, where Jisung undoubtedly stood. His fingers drifted near the trigger. “Or, rather, taken. We thought it was you, because all signs point to someone he trusted, and there was no one he trusted more.”  
  
“I didn’t _take_ Changbin,” Hyunjin said.  
  
Chan gestured to Jisung, rolling his eyes. “Yeah. Clearly. But whatever. I don’t really care either way. You’re going to find Changbin for us, or we’re going to destroy everything you love.” Chan said it so nonchalantly, still playing thoughtlessly with the gun, never blinking. His eyes were focused on Hyunjin.  
  
Mark smiled broadly. “Starting with your dog.”  
  
Hyunjin felt his heart sink. “Who… who do you think it was, then?”  
  
“Who else did he trust, Hwang?”  
  
Hyunjin swallowed. His arm burned: a ghost memory. He remembered golden eyes, blood, pain. “Fuck.”  
  
Chan nodded. He stopped twirling the gun, and Hyunjin flinched instinctively. “Good you’re keeping up.”  
  
“What?” Jisung said nervously.  
  
“Chan thinks it was someone in the yakuza,” Hyunjin replied. He felt his shoulders tense, adrenaline kicking in again for the millionth time that day. His arm, his femur, was burning, burning.  
  
Chan smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes. “Not just anyone, Hwang. Woojin-hyung.”  
  
“The Demon,” Hyunjin breathed without thinking. Then, more harshly, “Why would the leader of the yakuza kidnap one of his own members?”  
  
“That’s what you’re going to find out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm kind of swamped with work right now so I think it'll be weekly updates? Maybe more often if it lets up a bit... Anyway thanks for reading :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: implied domestic or sexual violence.

The first time Jisung met Hyunjin, he was almost certain they’d be enemies. It was a few weeks into his freshman year of college, the hot April sun and sticky Seoul humidity turning his university’s classic brick buildings and sprawling greens into seas of sweaty, fan-holding students. It was the kind of heat that got into your bones, that turned normally energetic young adults into paragons of frustrated exhaustion.  
  
It was Monday, around 10 AM. Jisung, late for his Harmony and Counterpoint class, was rushing out of the library, his books clutched to his chest. He could feel sweat gathering at his temples, his heart pounding, thoughts racing elsewhere. He worried about upsetting the professor, about becoming that student, about ruining his future career before he’d even gotten through his first semester.  
  
Needless to say, he wasn’t paying attention. Halfway down the library steps, he ran straight into the most beautiful boy he had ever seen. It was Hyunjin, of course, although Jisung didn’t know that quite yet. He had messy hair swept carefully out his face, sparkling dark eyes, muscular shoulders. It was the face of the same type of boy Jisung had been trying to avoid for years- the jock type, with eyes that passed over Jisung like he was nothing.  
  
It turned out the boy had been late to a job interview to join the janitorial staff, and had been similarly distracted: enough to slam into Jisung at a full run, sending both of them sprawling. He was so apologetic that even though he was late to his interview, he still walked - well, jogged - Jisung to class, carrying the heavy stack of music theory books for him. His eyes had been crinkled with embarrassment, searching Jisung’s face for signs of pain the entire time he’d escorted Jisung to class. It made Jisung wonder if he’d misjudged the boy.  
  
From that day on, they kept running into each other. It was like fate. They’d see each other at the library, at local cafes, again and again and again, until either friendship or hatred was inevitable, and it was clear which one they’d chosen.  
  
Jisung’s friends didn’t understand what he saw in Hyunjin: the boy was a nobody, graduated at the very bottom of his high school class, with a rather bleak economic future ahead of him. He was quick to anger, easily riled, and beyond protective to the point of causing frustration. Jealousy came easily to him, more easily than acceptance. But he was kind. He made Jisung laugh. He cared more about other people than anyone Jisung had ever met. And he was honest, always honest. And always so careful, like Jisung was about to break like glass. Which was funny, because if anyone had a glass heart, it would be Hyunjin, not Jisung.  
  
Jisung knew Hyunjin could break bones in his sleep. He knew that his fiance had needed to grow up fast, to learn violence until it came to him like breathing. But there was more to him. He was more than a thug.  
  
Watching Hyunjin fight Mark should have been terrifying. Maybe Jisung was in shock, but he wasn’t afraid, at least not anymore. Not even when Chan had pressed the gun to Hyunjin’s temple. All he could think was, _how dare these men come into our home at 8:00 in the morning and threaten us? How dare they threaten to kill Kkami? How dare they threaten my fiance?_  
  
Jisung's mind wandered to the reason they were in Hyunjin and Jisung’s house at all. Chan and Mark had broke the news to Jisung the moment they’d introduced themselves: Seo Changbin was missing.  
  
Changbin was Hyunjin’s first love, Jisung knew. He was the man who had taught Hyunjin to expect love to come alongside pain. The man who’d disappeared as soon as he’d come, leaving Hyunjin to put the pieces of his gentle, glass heart back together alone. Sometimes, Hyunjin still shivered when Jisung touched him, like he was afraid of pain. Sometimes, when he thought Jisung was asleep, he would walk out to the balcony and spend entire nights drinking by himself, staring into the black of the night. And there was this: the first time Jisung had tried to kiss him, Hyunjin had _flinched._  
  
Hyunjin had a single photo of Changbin, one that he kept in a dusty box of old high school memories. It was now ripped unprettily into three or four pieces. The photo had once shown the faces of two euphoric, possibly intoxicated high school students, leaning onto each other like they couldn't imagine being apart.  
  
Once, early in their Hyunjin and Jisung's relationship, when the latter's curiosity had gotten the better of him, he had tried to fit the pieces back together. It was then that he discovered the inscription on the back, written in scrawling handwriting that must have been Changbin's, this phrase: _Is your heart broken yet?_ The ink was so smudged Jisung almost couldn't read it, blue pen bleeding into perfect, tear-sized circles.  
  
Jisung wasn't the jealous type, so he didn't feel nervous, reading those words. He was perfectly confident in Hyunjin's love for him.  
  
Jisung didn’t hate anyone, really. Not even Chan and Mark, who he knew were simply doing the only thing they knew how to do. They reminded him of Hyunjin, a little, before he’d softened into the man he was today.  
  
No, Jisung didn’t really hate anyone. But Changbin? He might hate him. Maybe. Maybe. 

  
  


After Hyunjin had escorted Chan and Mark out the door, promising to report to their headquarters later that day, he still hadn’t looked at Jisung.  
  
Hyunjin pressed the door closed, the lock closing with a click. He made a fist with one hand, then gently pressed it to the door, his bicep flexing with the semblance of a punch. His head leaned forward, like he was leaning against the white-painted wood.  
  
In the back of Jisung’s brain, a memory flickered, so quiet that he almost didn’t notice the reminder. But it was there regardless, solemn and careful.“Baby,” Jisung said evenly. He buried the memory in his brain. “Look at me.”  
  
There was a pause. Hyunjin shuddered, a shiver passing through his body. He didn’t turn around. “I’m afraid,” he said. His voice was soft. “Tell me first. Did they hurt you?”  
  
“No.”  
  
Hyunjin began to shudder, his shoulders shaking. A gasp escaped from his lips. It took Jisung a few shocked seconds to realize he was crying. _Oh, Jinnie._ “Jinnie, look at me,” Jisung repeated. Hyunjin never cried out of fear, which meant this was relief. _He must have been so scared for me,_ Jisung thought, caught between sadness and a mirrored relief. Hyunjin turned around to face him, burying his head in his hands, and slid slowly down to the floor. His eyes were red, a few solitary tears tracking down the part of his face Jisung could see.  
  
Jisung walked up and sat next to him with a thump. He wrapped his arms around his fiance. Hyunjin laid his head quietly on Jisung’s shoulder. Jisung felt the sticky warmth of sweat, the cool wetness of tears soaking through his shirt. But he didn’t move a muscle.  
  
“I’m okay,” Jisung said finally, when Hyunjin’s tears had stopped. “We’ll get through this together.”  
  
“I know,” Hyunjin replied, speaking partially into the fabric of Jisung’s shirt. His voice was muffled. “You’re not angry?”  
  
Jisung sighed, shifting his position a bit. He felt his arm start to tingle as it fell asleep. “I’m fucking furious. But not at you.”  
  
Hyunjin let out a long breath and removed his head from Jisung’s shoulder. Jisung immediately felt the loss, his shirt still warm from Hyunjin’s breath, but he didn’t protest. “You should be angry at me,” Hyunjin said, almost under his breath.  
  
Jisung shoved him, but without any strength. “Don’t you start, Hwang Hyunjin. No-”  
  
“-self-hatred in this house,” Hyunjin finished, rolling his eyes. He pushed back his hair with one hand, then let his head loll backwards against the door, staring at the ceiling. “Yeah, I know. But still.”  
  
“I love you, Hyunjin,” Jisung said. He reached out and squeezed Hyunjin’s shoulder. “I made my choice. I chose you, with all the shit that comes with your history, and I don’t regret it for a second. I can deal.”  
  
Hyunjin bit his lip. He looked pensive, still staring up at nothing. Then, finally, “I love you, too. Always.”  
  
There was a comfortable pause.  
  
“We should go out for breakfast,” Jisung said, once the silence had run its course. “We can go to that dog cafe and get Kkami some food along the way.”  
  
Hyunjin nodded, then started to get up. “Sure. I just need to shower first.” He padded across the floor. “Where’s Kkami?”  
  
“Cowering in her basket. Before you ask, though, she’s fine.”  
  
  
After breakfast, they spent the rest of the afternoon hanging around home. Normally, they were more social, packing their Saturdays with activities with the knowledge that they wouldn’t be in their early twenties forever. But today, Jisung felt they deserved some time to themselves. They lay out on the couch, Jisung’s head buried in Hyunjin’s shoulder as they watched Netflix and caught up with their favorite TV shows for hours. They tangled their legs together, Kkami resting on Hyunjin’s stomach until the dog got annoyed with the attention and scampered away. At some point, Jisung fell asleep against Hyunjin’s chest, his exhaustion catching up with him before he even realized it was there. He was awoken hours later by the sound of Hyunjin’s alarm blaring from the coffee table.  
  
“Turn that shit off,” Jisung said blearily, but without rancor. There was a weighty absence next to him: Hyunjin had gotten up at some point during his nap. He heard a crackling sound from the kitchen, like someone was boiling food.  
  
Kkami ran up to him, his dog tag jingling, and jumped onto Jisung’s chest. Jisung let out a huff as the dog settled his weight on him.  
  
“Can you do it? The pasta’s about to boil over,” Hyunjin replied, his voice echoing around their meager kitchen space. “....That’s weird, though, I don’t remember setting an alarm.”  
  
Jisung leaned over, displacing their dog onto the floor in the process. “Sorry, Kkami.” He reached for the phone, which was still blaring.  
  
Jisung blinked in surprise. He sat up, suddenly fully awake. The blaring sound quieted.  
  
It was a call, not an alarm. The caller ID read: _Channie-hyung_  
  
“I thought you deleted his number, babe,” Jisung said softly, knowing Hyunjin would know who he meant.  
  
“Shit,” Hyunjin said emphatically. There was a heavy splash: he was probably draining out the pasta into a strainer. “Shit,” he said again, this time louder. “What time is it?”  
  
Jisung tapped the phone screen. “Uh… 6:24?”  
  
Hyunjin didn’t reply. Jisung heard the sound of keys jingling, footsteps pattering on the floor. Suddenly, a kiss was dropped in his hair. Hyunjin’s long, elegant fingers grabbed the phone from Jisung’s hand.  
  
“I was supposed to meet them at the compound at 6:15. I’m late. Dinner’s hot, it’s ready whenever. I’ll probably be back around midnight? I don’t know. I’ll text you if it’ll be any later.”  
  
Jisung sighed, turning around to face him. The other man was halfway to the door already, decked out in all black as always. Hyunjin’s hand rested at his belt, at the ghost of a gun. “Be safe, please.”  
  
“Always,” Hyunjin called back, his voice warm. “See you later, Sungie.”  
  
“See you, Jinnie.”  
  
The door slammed closed. Jisung was alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't actually know for sure when the school term begins in Korea... I googled it, so I hope it's correct :)


End file.
